|
|
Post by Nebula on Jul 25, 2008 3:18:13 GMT -6
It is the year 2025. My name is Enzo Kanegawa.I am 44 years old and destroyed by my way of living . I used to be a big shot back in the days , a professional wrestler. I used to win big matches and earn a lot of cash by fighting in great halls filled with thousands and thousands of people….
Well, not anymore. In the moment i am speaking about I spend my days hunting scum on the streets, for a handful of dollars
*****
18-12-2025
The Ship was empty, emptier than it had ever been, despite the presence of a bald man with a mechanical arm, who still resided within its walls. It was quiet. No adults arguing as though they were back in their youthful years. No dog lazily roaming about, following a carefree redhead who pranced around, singing songs that made little to no sense at all. Jet remained in the confinements of room, tending to his Bonsai trees. If ever he were to leave his room, it was merely for the daily shower and food. Bell peppers and beef? Hardly ever. His comrades were gone so there was no need to prepare his specialty…there was no one to impress, because he thought his cooking skills were just astounding.
Elena had left the Ship two months after Enzo went to seek Cutthroat, saying that the aroma and aura of the ship were intoxicating, and she needed some fresh air. Jet allowed her passage, knowing she was too stubborn to comply, and all in all knew that leaving was her method of moving on; forgetting about a tall lanky man with fuzzy green hair and brown mismatched hues. Ed and Ein had left a few days before ‘the Enzo and Cutthroat’ ordeal, and thus leaving the old man to return to who he once was before he encountered Elena and Ed, or even Enzo for that matter. Yet it wasn’t as effortless as it seemed. Jet had grown to care for his comrades, despite the annoyance he received from them from time to time. They were his partners, his companions, and his family. And so it was difficult to return to who he once was without thinking of them.
Too difficult…
Sometimes he told himself he needed no one, but of course it was a lie. Even Jet hid the truth from others as well as himself, because at times like these, being weak will only mean his demise. And if lying to himself was the only way to get through it, then it was to be done, despite the circumstances.
A sigh escaped the bald old man’s lips as he tried to concentrate, while trimming the stray stems from his precious bonsai, knowing that with any minor slip, his trees were finished. The tip of his tongue parted his lips, to reside at the corner of his mouth and his eyes narrowed just a tat. His body continuously leaned forward from the chair and his right hand hovered above the plant, shaking slightly as he prepared to commence in trimming. His left hand rested upon his left thigh, with the elbow pointing upward. Moments had past and yet Jet had not trimmed even a millimeter of what he had intended to do. His hand still hovered tiredly and when he finally reached the plant, the hand residing on his lap lost its balance, therefore sending Jet to fall forward and… Snip! His body quivered ferociously and his left eyebrow twitched.
“DAMN!”, he growled as the scissors once within his grasp went soaring across the room and into the wall. “This place is cursed!”, he hissed with a hint of annoyance embracing every word.
Jet placed both hands on the surface of the table and pushed backward boosting himself from the chair. His hand left his side to rub at the back of his head as he observed the damage he had bestowed upon his precious bonsai trees. And to think he was responsible for it and not that crazy redhead. There must be something he could do to rid himself of this sort of depression, he thought.
For the first time in a long while, Jet made his way into the room he once called a living room. Everything was still well intact. The yellow couch, which was hardly a fascinating sight, the coffee table, which rested in front of the couch, and a TV, which was positioned in front of the table. The ever-spinning fan was still overhead and of course it still continued to rotate. He thought that perhaps he would occupy Enzo’s resting area upon the couch, and watch Big Shot, just to remind himself of old memories. And he did just that.
**Flash Back**
Enzo stood over Cuthroats’s cold and soiled form. His demeanor was slightly hunched forward and crimson liquid oozed from a deep wound on his shoulder, and slowly crept down his left arm to continuously drip from his fingertips. In his side was another wound implanted by Cutthroat's Katana. Blood seeped through his usual yellow shirt, which was now torn on several areas. In one hand, he held the gun, which took away the life of his ex-comrade. In the other, he held his blue jacket, which was also ripped, in several areas. Mismatched brown eyes, which held little emotion, were fixed towards the corps on the floor, and Enzo’s famous smirk tugged at his lips. A few moments passed before Enzo stepped back. The gun in his hand was tossed upward into the air and his free hand lifted. His index finger pointed at the gliding gun and his thumb was up and pointed to the diagonal. The rest of the fingers were tucked in, enabling his hand to resemble non other than a gun.
“Bang…”, was all he said before turning from the corps to exit the building.
**End Flash Back**
Two months had passed since Enzo’s battle with Cuthroat. His injuries had healed but for some odd reason, the pain was still There. Not physically, but mentally eating at his heart. Despite the fact that he had accomplished what he sought to do, there was still a feeling of emptiness that he could not quite decipher. Was he still alive, or had the everlasting darkness fallen upon him, blackening his soul…his every being? He sat on a stool inside a bar. His eyes buried in the glass of liquor before him. The bartender could not help but wonder, what it is the Long-haired man could possibly be pondering on, knowing that he had been this way ever since he entered. With a half smirk plastered upon his lip, the bartender grasped the bottle of the brown intoxicating liquid, and began pouring it inside the glass Enzo had before him, his eyes remained fixed on him, trying to see if Enzo would return from his trance. Nevertheless, he did not so much as blink, at the bartender’s weak attempt.
“Something troubling you?”, the bartender asked in the calmest of voices as he placed the bottle he once held beside the green-haired man.
Enzo slightly lifted his head at the sound of the mans voice, yet he was too deeply in thought to clearly here the mans question. “Hmm?”, a deep and odd sound echoed from his throat
The bartender smiled knowing that he needn’t ask that question again, for it had already been answered by Enzo’s lack of interest.
“This world is a bitter place to live in”, he spoke in the same tone as before, his own brown hues searching for Enzo’s mismatched ones. And despite the fact that he was looking right in them, he knew there was something missing. “Someone sees you dyin, and they wouldn’t even care to help yah…won’t even give yah a second glance. Yah have to fend for yourself. Yet…there are times when it’s ok to release those feelings inside yah, because you’re only helpin yourself.”
After he spoke, the bartender grasped what remained of the liquid inside the bottle and left in a swift but quiet motion. Enzo watched him leave as he took his words into consideration. He gulped down the remaining of the brown liquid, and boosted from his chair. He dove into his pocket, removed a coin, and placed it upon the surface of the bar table before exiting without a word. Enzo's hands were still buried within his pocket as he strolled down the street, looking forward and never away. He was mute to all the noises created by racing vehicles and people that passed him by. For the memories inside his mind controlled him like a puppet tied to a string.
“Where're you going? Why are you going?”
Elena ’s sorrowful voice rang in his head continuously, and he thought he knew the answer to her question then…
“I'm not going there to die... I'm going there to find out if I'm really alive.”
And even after the fight, he was still questioning himself. Was he really alive? Next came Cutthroat's annoyed tone
“I told you before Enzo , only I can kill you and set you free.”
And he thought to himself…perhaps Cuthroat was right. Maybe he should have died that day. Perhaps he would have been free…no! He would be free! He would finally rest in the arms of an angel. The only angel he had ever set eyes on, to know there really was a heaven. The angel he called…Julia.
Unknowingly, Enzo had been walking for over an hour. The Swordfish II was only a few feet away, and with a couple more steps, Enzo was standing before one of his most priced possessions. It had taken a few hits, but it was still manageable…at least to him. He hopped into the ship, and took off seconds later, leaving with such speed that left debris to swirl about, creating a dust devil. His destination…the Big Ship, his home. Only an old bald man with a mechanical arm can assist in restoring his ship to a perfect condition, after complaining about the cost and what not that is. Enzo smirked at that thought as he flew through space.
Jet had fallen asleep on the yellow couch, finally realizing why Enzo chose to rest on that particular spot on several occasions. He was completely oblivious to the tall lanky man who had entered with his hands in the pocket of his blue trousers and a sweet cancerous stick between his lips. The lanky man stood over Jet’s sleeping form and as his eyes slowly peered open to look upon a familiar face, he hoped to his feet , seeming as though he had seen a ghost…and he might just be right. For a minute or two, the bald man stared at the other. His body structure, his features, his fluffy green hair and his smirk all seemed well too familiar. Could it be?
“Enzo…”, the name rolled off his tongue in a calm but alarmed fashion.
“In the flesh”, was the only reply the black-haired man could give. His voice, calm as usual, and that sangfroid smirk was well intact.
“I guess the tiger striped cat never died after all”, jet said, recalling the story Enzo had told him before leaving the Ship.
“I guess so”
“So…how’d it go?” Jet asked as one of his hands left his side to rub the back of his hairless head.
“I’m alive aren’t I?”, he answered.
“Cutthroat is dead huh?…What now?”
Enzo shrugged as he allowed his form to collapse on the yellow couch before him, once again renaming it his resting area. “I dunno.” His face was focused upward and brown hues gazed at the spinning fan above, as the smoke from his cigarette slowly elevated only to be diminished by the wind from the fan.
Enzo had only been in the Ship for 30 minutes and yet, he noticed the silence that filled the ship. Something was missing…well more like someone, but whom? That bad attitude, that skimpy yellow outfit, and the annoying complaints for money…of course! The Shrew Woman!
“Where’s the girl?”, he asked, the calmness in his tone never altering.
“You mean Elena …she’s gone. Said she needed fresh air…haven’t seen her since.” Jet replied…his pitch of voice lowering a few octaves.
“I see…”
“Well, glad to have you back Enzo-san”, the old man said before retreating into the kitchen.
“Oh? And I suppose you’ll also be glad to pay off the expenses for my ship.” The famous smirk was beginning to build on his lips after he removed the cancerous stick, to smash it on a tray upon the coffee table, and his eyelids slowly began to close......
Diary Of a Wanderer
Sicily
Nebula's Log
The world we see all around us day after day, nothing seems to change, yet, at the same time, everything changes. Small things, insignificant, you don't ever even notice them. But one small event, combines with another. Endlessly, little changes form together, to create something overwhelming, something that makes you stop and star. Something that makes you think. Something new.
I see the world around me, the beauty, and the beast. A beautiful, unspoilt, golden vale in the countryside, a decimated, war-torn city in the Middle East. And I wonder. Why does man do this? Why must we take the natural beauty of this planet, why must we destroy it? Why must we ravage and tear at a world so beautiful, one we inherit through endless generations, and one which will be inherited by endless generations after our passing.
What will be left of it all? Will the beauty and splendour of the countryside, the reefs of the ocean, the snow-capped mountains, be destroyed in the name of soulless industry, the God that created all of this for us, replaced by the God of money, fame and wealth? Is there any hope at all left for us mortals, or shall we march mindlessly towards the destruction of all things we hold precious?
Afterall, we're only human. And human beings do one thing better than anything else. We make mistakes. And we make a lot of mistakes, setting off a chain reaction. In our efforts to preserve ourselves, to grant us longer life, if we're wealthy that is, look what we do to those beneath us, our fellow man. They say we are all born with an conscience. Looking at the world today, I would have to dispute that notion.
The world I see before me is filled with greed, corruption, fear, hate. For a race of beings that claims itself compassionate, caring, we rarely see it. When we do, is it real? No. Insincerity plagues us like an endless curse. We're only sincere with one another when it suits us, when it serves to better our situation, when there is a profit to be made. I see it all the time.
Streets are lined, all day, everyday, businessmen and women, out for nothing other than money, people who don't even know their own childs name. Vendors on the sidewalks, attempting to force their useless crap down your throats, looking to make a quick buck. Performance artists, looking to make their money. That's all people care about, money.
"Money is the root of all evil." As I look at the world, and I see all of that evil, I can't help but agree. Clichéd as it may be, it's completely true. When was the last time you saw a billionaire give a homeless man a couple thousand dollars, rather than the measly fifty cents the homeless would only receive on an extremely rare occasion? Have you ever seen it happen? No, I didn't think so.
Set your sights northward, and press on. Cast aside your greed, and focus on all that surrounds you, to build a better future, not only for yourself, but for the people around you, the same who you claim to love, and for future generations. Build for a brighter tomorrow. If only it was that simple. When it's all said and done, and the time for judgment is nigh, what exactly will you have to say for yourself?
"Well..I, uhh, didn't kill anyone." What else? Perhaps you didn't commit any of the seven deadly sins, but there's more to life than not sinning. There's also what's called "good deeds", something most people in the world today don't seem to have ever heard about. And yet, they remain perched high, with their holier than thou attitudes. Don't make me sick. At least I know that I'm a sinner.
I've accepted the man that I've become, and what I do best. What I do best is, hurting those who try to defy me , with the sole mission to cause pain. At least...that's how it would seem to the uneducated laymen, and, I admit, to the most intelligent of psychologists. But that isn't my reasoning, no. The reason I hurt people isn't to see them hurt.
It's to wake them up. Wake up, and smell the coffee. Look at what's just happened to you. You're lying in a pool of your own blood, you're banged up, you're bruised. What are you thinking about now? Is it your big fat paycheck that's waiting for you once you clear the cobwebs? Is it your Porsche sitting in the parking lot? Or is it the sudden realization that you almost lost it, that which at one point you never even knew you had.
Your life. Your soul. Because without it, there is no pay for the beatings you take. There is no fancy car, there is no mansion, and there certainly is no more cheap women. Nothing in life is certain, and that's a fact. But neither is what happens when we pass away. Ask yourself, do you believe in God? Let's say that your opinion is right. Let's explore the scenarios.
You live the life of sin, and there is a God. Sure, your sins were small, but they were many. As you suffer forever in Hell, think to yourself, was it all worth the endless pain that you've now inflicted upon yourself? Was it worth those times you lusted, was it worth the petty thefts? Let's say there is no God. Is that really the way you want to be known forever? As someone who's life was revolved around one thing; greed.
Is that what you want, not to be looked at in the positive, but in the negative? That's how you wish to be remembered? Fair enough, if you wish to be forever known as scum, that's your choice. But it doesn't make anything easier for you, oh no.
On ocassion, in this business, along comes a man. And this man changes the face of the company for which he works, forever bending it and twisting it in his own image, becoming it's flagship name, the man that puts the butts in the seats, and who forever engrains himself, as the best that the company has ever had to offer.
I am that man. Sure, you may claim this is but an ego trip, but, I mean, come on. Look what I've been given for my debut in RCW , Willy Franklin . Willy what is it that you think you have, to possibly manage to pull off what would be, nothing short of a miracle, and to defeat me?
You think you can win this?
No way In hell.
There will be centuries standing before you, the crushed wills of hundreds of fighters which stood in front of me in the ages that have gone. They came full of hope and dreams , they thought they could deliver. Yet , in the end i stood over their worthless carcasses rising my arms in victory.You see , mr No One , i am the King of the crushed starlight and the witness of the living nightmare.
I know what it means to be hopeless and desperate. I know what it means to stand in a corner , trembling in fear , feeling the cold hand of desperation softly caress your spine and than rip it off of you. leaving you there , just a bunch of bloody flesh , without nowhere to hang on.I know what it means to feel despised and spitted at.
And I will never , ever again turn back to those feelings. I am the champion now. I have felt what success means. The starlight and adrenaline are now my companions.And with that loads and loads of cash.They allow me to lead a better life. They allow me to stand straight , without the mask of shame painted in my face.
You?
You are a worthless sack of tasteless potatoes standing in my way to starf**k**g dome.
I don't know you, nor do i know your name , or even care to learn it.You're just a fading memory in the big book of worthless memories. I don't need to care about you. You will vanish from my radar in the same moment i stomp over you and pin you for that one, two , three.
You have ambitions
Who cares
All men have ambitions , and they see 'em crushed in front of their eyes everyday.It is because as much as ambitions are important , they are nothing without experience and talent. Talent is needed in everything you do in this worthless life.Without an inch of skill or better said talent , you won't make it far in this existence of ours called life.
But there is something even more important than talent. Something which allows you to survive and smell the sweet spot you need to attack in order to achieve victory. It is called experience. That is something that comes with time , and many hard fought battles. That little , not so unimportant thing , will always make the difference between the seasoned veteran and the ambitious rookie.
You may have all the talent in this world
You may even be championship material for what i care.
But you will fall and fall hard , fall a hundred times,before you can learn how to use what you posses in your advantage.I've been through that, though. I've had my share of lost battles and shattered bones.I am through with the time when i was considered a promising rookie and nothing more.I have gained knowledge about what it must be done in order to survive my battles against my destiny.
I have experience
I have ambition
And
I have talent too.
What do you have ?
Nothing
And with nothing in your hand will you remain when this fight is over.
|
|
